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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954401">Fate: Original sin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gantzllat/pseuds/Gantzllat'>Gantzllat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate/stay night &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:42:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gantzllat/pseuds/Gantzllat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamato, a normal Japanese student with a passion for art finds himself being chased by a panzer tank from world war 2 Right before being killed by an explosive shell, he is saved by a woman holding a sword. This will be the beginning of a war that will shake the country and test Yamato's morals. All the while revealing the sins of heroes long past, from a war that should have ended.</p><p>(This is a non canon fanfic done more as a cool idea that sparked in the moment. The idea was "Fate stay night, but with heroes of world war 2 as servants" and that idea spiraled into a huge mess that now I'm writing)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Saber</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>yamato looked at the explosive shell, timed slowed as his brain tried to find an answer, a way to stay alive. But it was impossible. Humans can't outrun an explosive shell shoot at them from the barrel of a tank.</p><p>-How did this happened?- He wondered.</p><p>Tanks don't just roam around the streets of japan shooting at people like if it was a war zone, yet again he used to believe broken spines couldn't be cured, that people couldn't make fire out of their bare hands and that paper would never become a sword. Life was a mysterious thing indeed.</p><p>He closed his eyes, the only thing he could do as the shell approached, holding enough fire power to leave no trace of him once it hit, probably blowing the wooden house behind him in the process.  </p><p>CLANG</p><p>the sound of steel brought time to its normal pace, like a spell broken... Or cut, to be precise.</p><p>"Hahahahaha Oh how I missed the smell of gunpowder"</p><p>Came the woman's voice, laughing with such joy and happiness that could be mistaken for a playful child.</p><p>Yamato opened his eyes, the approaching shell was now replaced by the back of a woman. Her shoulders where narrow, her waist thin and she didn't seem to be tall, but her shadow covered him like a giant, and those shoulder seemed to encompass the whole world in front of him, guarding him as a tall wall of steel. She was wearing a uniform, green with dark patterns to blend in the forest and two guns hanging from holsters in her waist. Even then, she was holding a sword, almost as long as she was tall in one hand, pointing at the enemy in front of her, with a poise so still he could barely tell she was breathing.</p><p>"Hey boy, ar ya my master or somding?" The woman said, with a Scottish accent so thick he almost didn't understood her question.</p><p>"On ya feet boy, this is war" The woman said. Yes, war, she remembered, clear as the light reflecting on her sword, the great war, about the only thing on her life that ever made sense. She remembered charging against enemy lines in the coast of France, sword in hand with machine gun fire whistling around her. She remembered the mortar explosions around trenches and the distant echo of artillery fire. She remembered the haunting scream of German bombers and the stories of tanks that disappeared in the hills and forest of the north like ghosts.</p><p>This war was different. More quiet.</p><p>No trenches on scarred fields, no mud on her boots and no explosions on the distance. Just a quiet street, trees with pink flowers shedding off their petals like rain, dancing on the whispering wind, what a strange war this was.</p><p>-The war of the grail- Her memories answered, the very same she fought long ago, but now it was different. A war of mages and servants. Of wizards and ghosts long dead, a war of seven.</p><p>-And here I thought the yankees destroyed that thing with that little gift they drop-</p><p>"If you are my master, I'll be ya sword"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Yamato</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yamato would have stared out the window, if his classroom had any windows. He would also tried to take a nap, but this particular teacher would have sent a piece of chalk flying towards him, so he surrendered the idea. He also would have attempted to draw a little bit on one of his notebooks, but with the class press sitting right besides him ready to scold his behavior that wasn't an option, so he had no options but to surrender and do his math. The horror.</p><p>He buried his face on the notebook with a groan, hoping the math problems wrote on it would surrender to his will and solve themselves, sending his powerful will on them by rubbing the sides of his head and messing his black hair.</p><p>"Don't exaggerate Yamato-kun, is not that bad"</p><p>"Says the president of both the student council and the math club" Yamato answered with a groan, turning to look at the woman besides him. She was tall for a woman, 170 centimetres, with long black hair she kept tied in a ponytail and a very clean and polish overall appearance. Rei Tohsaka was her name, and despite her high lady facade, she was a very wicked woman at heart. Yamato believed she was born a politician. Sometimes it seemed like they deliberately sit her besides him expecting she would keep him in check. They had 4 classes together and in all of them she would sit at his side, this pattern had been present since the first year of high-school. If by now they weren't at least acquaintances he would have felt severely disappointed of himself.</p><p>"You know I hate math"</p><p>"You are surprisingly good at Japanese tough"</p><p>Yamato squinted his eyes at her. Part of him heard it as a commentary to his brown skin and big round eyes, even if he knew she was just stating a fact. Sometimes he felt like he would always be a foreigner in the eyes of his classmates, a gaijin. He knew it wasn't like that, but he couldn't help feel like that, even if he knew it was him and not them the problem. It was not that he was not welcome, it was that he didn't feel like one of them. Deep down he knew he wasn't and would never be, his mother make sure of that. He would always be something else.</p><p>-If you dislike doing something, do it quickly with no hesitation. When doubt grasp your heart it will stop your hands and numb your mind- Came his mother's voice from beyond the grave, figuratively speaking, he wasn't able to speak with the dead.</p><p>He opted to make use of his first right and shut up before continuing his work until the end of the class, when he got up as soon as he heard the bell and practically run to his club room</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have forgotten I was writing this. Then one day, depressed out of my mind because my wattpad account was hacked and thinking about stopping writing all together I remembered "O yeah, I was writing a fan fiction somewhere"</p><p>So I'm stuck here now it seems.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yamato traced the brush on the canvas, concentrated on the picture on his mind being born in front of him with every movement of his wrist. The sounds around him faded,as his mind wandered, part on a place that never existed and a landscape never seen. Part on his memories and past, of his mother teaching him what he was and how it worked.</p><p>-Magic is the act of forcing your will into the material. Making your thoughts exist, and your words real-</p><p>This was the closest he could find to that, taking a little piece of his mind, his imagination, and making it real. He remembered a lot more, but he didn't have a use for any of it. His own mother told him once. Magic was a lost art, something the new world have buried under enough things it didn't even remember its existence nor purpose, one little invention at a time, till the witches of old forgot to teach their children. Why did she bother to teach him then? he never found an answer, but thanks to that, he would always feel different. When others saw the wind moving the branches of flowered trees in spring, they didn't think of fairies. When the light blinked in the fog, they didn't think of wisps. And when he stroked the painted brush in the canvas, no one thought of magic.</p><p>In front of him the image took form, starting from the foundations of a castle built into impossible ways, which pillars where hold by creatures misshaped and horrid, with light green skin and red eyes. -Changelings- he thought for but a second, as his mind wandered lost in an image not quite formed, as lost and misshaped as the changelings holding pillars of a castle destined to fall upon it's own weight, but there was something deeper there. An image formed in the space between the shadows, behind darkened clouds, something foreign to the image in his mind, something done by his hand and not his will.</p><p>-Listen to your gut son, must often than not, it knows better than you-</p><p>A little chuckle came to him remembering that. Something inside him, something he would never quite understood, was painting of it's own volition. His "gut" his mother called it, and instinct, a premonition. That, which often spoke in riddles and vague answers, was now painting with him, in the negative space in between pillars, stone and sky. He let it be, it knew better after all.</p><p>"Mmmh, never thought you were the 'surrealism' kinda guy" Came the voice of Rei behind him, nearly giving him a heart attack and making him drop the brush in panic.</p><p>"Careful, you almost ruined your painting" Rei said with a chuckle, covering her mouth with one hand.</p><p>"Sorry, I didn't hear you. How long have you been there?" Yamato answered, cleaning the brush with a handkerchief after regaining his composure. He had the habit of concentrating too much on his current task, lose the grasp of time and place.</p><p>"I arrive recently. I thought I had to remind you to go home early today, there was some talk about some people disappearing recently and the teachers asked to postpone the club activities"</p><p>"Isn't that serious? why wasn't i aware of that?"</p><p>"Off course you weren't, you slept during most of the first period"</p><p>Yamato stopped before answering that, realizing he actually didn't have an answer. It was true he wasn't a morning person, and he usually just slept over the teacher morning greetings. He let out a sigh and just packed up his thing, letting the painting to dry as he did.</p><p>"Thanks for going out of your way to tell me, I may have stayed here if you didn't"</p><p>"Off course, it is my duty after all"</p><p>"pfft" Yamato sputtered, drowning a laugh at that. Rei really went out of her way to maintain the "proper class president" image when she could. Once he finished packing his things, judging the painting to be sufficiently dried up, he rolled it up and went on his way, leaving the president behind.</p><p>Once Yamato was out of the room, Rei eyed the place where he was sitting moments ago. Her eyes growing cold as she did, noticing the absence of any ink or paint palette. Noticing that, since club activities where cancelled, he wouldn't have access to the tools locket, as the club president was the one with the keys, so he shouldn't have any paints to begin with.</p><p>"What a mysterious person" She thought with a smile.</p>
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